


My L'Manberg

by CodaAtTheEnd



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Paris Burning (thecitysmith), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 2020 L'Manberg Election on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Abusive Relationships, Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Dead Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Dream Smp, Explosions, Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Grief/Mourning, L'Manberg War of Independence on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), L'Manberg is Not Okay, L'Manberg | L'Manburg on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Minecraft, Pandora's Vault Prison, Personified Cities, Presumed Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Prisoner Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Resurrected TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Traitor Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Traitor Wilbur Soot, Trans Male Floris | Fundy, Wilbur Soot is Not Okay, Wilbur Soot-centric, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29927673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodaAtTheEnd/pseuds/CodaAtTheEnd
Summary: It takes three deaths to die forever. It takes three deaths to create a City. L'Manberg is born unwanted from bloodstained hands and the ruins of regret.(Or, Wilbur Soot, and the city he created from bloodstained earth.)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & L'Manberg, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	My L'Manberg

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Paris Burning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/825130) by [thecitysmith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecitysmith/pseuds/thecitysmith). 



> *casually enters enormous fandom with a very niche crossover set five arcs ago...*  
> The only thing you need to know about Paris Burning for the sake of this fic is that 1. Cities are alive, 2. Cities are born through three deaths: the Mother, the Elder, and the Warrior, and then disaster, and 3. Cities die when both they and their land are burned. I am playing _very_ fast and loose with the necessary deaths for the sake of the fic, so don't expect the deaths to align well with the labels they have been given.  
> thecitysmith's tumblr is here: https://thecitysmith.tumblr.com/  
> The post discussing the birth of Cities is here: https://thecitysmith.tumblr.com/post/63825858524/do-cities-have-parents-like-how-were-they-born-if

**The Mother**

Wilbur always knew that Sally would leave him. She was a salmon, after all, and no matter how much she loved him, she would always love the sea more. He knew that from the moment they started dating, she'd _told_ him that from the beginning, but he still loved her, and he never regretted it. Not for one moment. He would always treasure his time with her, the years she had given to him instead of the sea, and most of all, he would treasure the son that she had given him. Fundy, his little champion, his darling child. When he had learned that Sally was pregnant, he sped up the construction of L'Manberg, wanting his son ~~_(well, daughter, back then, but they didn't know any better)_~~ to be born within its walls. And maybe, just maybe, L'Manberg had started as a drug empire, but it was more than that now. It was a place where the people would be free. It was a place where wars would be won with words, not weapons. It was a place where Fundy would be _safe_. 

He had hoped for a peaceful secession, in the beginning. He'd banned armor and weapons, tried to tell Dream about their plans, but alas, it was for naught. Dream, the tyrant, attacked them without provocation, and that was the beginning of the end of peace. They declared independence, built the walls for protection, and then Fundy was born, his beloved son. The walls were for _him_ , the nation was for _him_. Of course, L'Manberg was more than that of course, but Wilbur had built it for _Fundy_ , his darling son, his little champion. The first one born within L'Manberg's walls. For Fundy, for L'Manberg, Wilbur would gladly give up all of his lives. His new nation, his L'Manberg would be a place of peace. ~~_(And sure, maybe independence was a rare thing, especially without a City, especially when a server was new enough to not_~~ ~~have _Cities, but that just meant that L'Manberg would have to be the first.)_~~

In response to their Declaration of Independence, Dream laughed at them, mocked their ideals, and declared war. ~~_(Declaring independence? On my server? They don't even have a City.)_~~ Wilbur and the rest of L'Manberg prepared for war, gathering supplies, armor, and weapons as battles raged. Each time he raised a weapon or donned his armor, his heart broke a little more, but they had to keep fighting. Many came close to death, the ground was torn asunder by TNT _~~(You would burn it? You would kill it? It is yet unborn and you would have it~~_ ~~die _?)_~~ , but for the briefest of moments, L'Manberg seemed to be _winning_. Then came Eret's betrayal. Wilbur had suspected nothing. He had gone along like a lamb to the slaughter, blindly trusting his 'ally' to help him. Empty chests, a trapped button, and then betrayal, like a knife. "It was never meant to be," they said, and that almost hurt more than the betrayal itself. Of course L'Manberg was meant to be. It was a place of freedom, of peace, of wars won with words. ~~_(A place of bloodshed, of loss, of explosions.)_~~ It was for _freedom_. It was for _Fundy_.

As Wilbur died for the first time, harming potions seeping into his flesh, his last thought was of Fundy. The first, but hopefully not the last, to be born within the walls of L'Manberg. Of course it was meant to be. And so he died, peace filling his heart at the knowledge that Fundy would grow up in L'Manberg, the land that would be free, if they only fought hard enough. _"We will be free,"_ a last whisper as he falls, of course it was meant to be.

 _(The earth stirs from its cold stillness as the blood and breath of the Mother seeps into its soil, and the earth coils around it tightly, waitinghopinglonging for more life, more_ sacrifice. L'Manberg _beats the Mother's heart, and the name echoes throughout the bloodstained earth._ L'Manberg _._ L'Manberg _._ L'Manberg _. What Will Be coalesces into a singular concept, a singular_ ideal _, and the world feels so alive. The flesh and blood and bone of the Mother are claimed by the earth, and so it begins.)_

* * *

**The Elder**

L'Manberg was independent at long last, but it wasn't enough for Wilbur. He had fought for these people, bled for these people, _died_ for these people, and they didn't respect him. They didn't respect his position as President of the great nation they had built together. ~~_(Where is the City by his side? Where is the Capital of the Nation they had built? Why should they listen to_~~ ~~him _?)_~~ And in all fairness, he _had_ just seized power over their great nation. Of _course_ they wouldn't listen to him! _~~(Not without a City. Not without~~_ ~~their _City.)_~~ So he held an election to demonstrate his legitimacy, to _prove_ that he was without a doubt the President of L'Manberg. With Tommy by his side, POG2020 would easily reign supreme, especially against _Quackity_ and _George_. He had been the guiding hand that had spurred the nation's creation. Of _course_ he and Tommy would win.

In hindsight, Wilbur had been just a _tad_ bit arrogant. If they'd stuck to the original rules and forbidden Coconut2020 and Schlatt2020 from participating, then they would have won as easily as breathing. But how could he stop his little champion's efforts? If they'd forbidden coalition governments, then the split vote would have made it even easier to win. But how could he do that when he was the one who'd asked Quackity for his votes? No, he just _had_ to let his arrogance, and then his fear, ruin everything. One percent. Just _one_ percent, and everything was ruined. Maybe if George hadn't slept in. Maybe if he hadn't invited Schlatt. Maybe if Schlatt hadn't been banned, so long ago. Maybe then, everything would have gone the way it was _supposed_ to. _~~(Wilbur in command, Tommy at his right, the City at his left, and a prosperous nation before them, the picture of peace. No armour, no weapons, no tyrants, no pain. Just words. Just words and wits and the simple joy of kinship.)~~_

At first, for that single soulcrushing heartbeat after seeing the results, he thought that everything would be fine. Sure, he wasn't president, but he knew Schlatt. They were friends! Schlatt would do a _fine_ job at running L'Manberg ~~_(even if he wasn't the right man for the job)_~~ , and Wilbur would support him, the rightfully elected leader of L'Manberg. It was a place of freedom, after all, and the citizens of L'Manberg had chosen Schlatt. They had chosen this, and Wilbur would bow to the whims of L'Manberg. _~~(One percent, one percent,~~_ ~~one _percent. It wasn't_ right _. Just one percent.)_~~ This naïveté lasted until Schlatt opened his mouth and began his speech. _Emperor_ , he said, as though L'Manberg was not founded upon freedom, upon emancipation, upon the end of tyranny. Wilbur ran, his city stolen from him, his citizenship in the nation he founded revoked, his ideals ignored by the one who was supposed to endorse them. In that moment, that horrific instant wherein he heard but did not register Schlatt's words, he knew that L'Manberg, _his_ L'Manberg, a place of words instead of weapons, was dead. Schlatt, the new tyrant, now ruled over a corpse, the _husk_ of his once-great nation.

In another server, a server where people lived long enough to grow old, perhaps Wilbur would not have been so weary, perhaps Wilbur would not have grown old before his time. But in this server, a server where children fought and died, a server where he was one of the oldest there, the world accepted his blood as that of the Old. As Wilbur died for the second time, his heart breaking as he mourned his L'Manberg, his final thought was of the nation that could have been. L'Manberg, free from tyranny, standing strong, a City walking its streets. And so he died, bitter and bleeding, comforted only by the knowledge that he died in L'Manberg, with L'Manberg, alongside his beautiful country that had deserved _so_ much more. 

_(The earth consumes the Elder, cradling it within itself along with the flesh of the Mother, blood and breath and bone joining together in the pulse of Life._ L'Manberg _, beats the heart of the Mother._ L'Manberg is dead _, beats the heart of the Elder, twin ideals in both sacrifices unifying into a singular mantra._ L'Manberg. L'Manberg. L'Manberg ~~is dead~~ _. The Heart of What Will Be beats for a self that the Mother awaits and the Elder mourns, and Life begins taking its form. The earth waits for the final piece of the morbid puzzle, and so it continues.)_

* * *

**The Warrior**

With the fall of L'Manberg _~~(How dare you rename my City? How dare you rename~~_ ~~my _City? How dare you kill my city and dance upon its corpse?)_~~ , Wilbur knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that it was over. Despite Tommy's naïve beliefs in the reclaimability of L'Manberg, he _knew_ that his City, his great L'Manberg, was gone. He had done this, his foolish, arrogant actions had caused this, and whenever he stopped to think, the guilt rose up to swallow him whole. So he did not think, did not _pause_ , did not sleep. ~~_(Not when his City, so beautiful, so still, haunted his dreams, reaching out to him with bloodstained hands, smiling at him with a face he could not remember, falling to the ground with empty eyes.)_~~ He knew, in the moments he stopped to ponder his actions, that he was in the wrong, that he was betraying his ideals with every plot of violence he concocted, that even attempting to overthrow Schlatt made a mockery of democracy, but he didn't care anymore. L'Manberg was dead. Tommy, the loveable idiot, couldn't see that, couldn't see that L'Manberg was irrecoverable. He still thought that _Schlatt_ was the problem. No, the problem was the _people_. He thought he could trust them to choose freedom over tyranny, he thought he could trust them to choose L'Manberg's ideals over what they had just escaped, but his trust was misplaced.

He couldn't blame them for being so blinded as to elect Schlatt, not really. It wasn't _their_ fault that Schlatt had successfully hidden his true colours until after the election. But he _could_ blame them for not fighting back once they had realised the truth, once Schlatt's tyrannical nature came to light. They were a nation of revolutionaries, of advocates for freedom, and yet _none_ of them resisted. Even _Fundy_ had turned against him, destroying key aspects of the L'Manberg that once was. ~~_(He burned down the flag. He tore down the walls. How could he? How_~~ ~~could _he? Those were for_ him _._ _)_~~ Who else was a traitor in a revolutionary's coat? Who else was _lying_ to him? Even the people who had come to him in the dead of night, seeking the end of Schlatt, they could not be trusted. They just wanted Schlatt _gone_. They didn't want L'Manberg. _No one_ wanted L'Manberg. _~~(If they had, they wouldn't have~~_ ~~killed _it.)_~~ Not even _he_ wanted L'Manberg, not really. Not after he knew that his great nation would be ruined by these _pathetic_ people, so weak-willed, so frail in spirit, so willing to turn against what they had so recently fought for. _~~(How could he want it when L'Manberg was~~_ ~~dead _? How could he want it when it was never coming back?)_~~ No, he longed for the L'Manberg That Could Have Been, if only the people had been willing. ~~_(Words instead of weapons. The walls keep us safe. No need for armour. Freedom from tyranny. But now it's gone.)_~~

Manberg was a blight upon the land, a desecration of his nation's corpse, and he wanted it _gone_. He wanted the place _burned_ , he wanted the earth _salted_ , he wanted the wreckage of his once-great nation _blown to smithereens_. ~~_(If we can't have Manberg, NO ONE can have Manburg.)_~~ L'Manberg was dead, and he wanted to get rid of its corpse, more than anything, more than he wanted it _back_. Tommy thought it could be returned, but he just couldn't _see_. If they took it back, then they were the false leaders of a stolen nation. If they took it back, then the _people_ would do it again. ~~_(If there's no L'Manberg, then what's the point? Then what's the_~~ ~~point _?)_~~ So he went to Dream. ~~_(I want to be your vassal.)_~~ He went to Dream and took from him eleven and a half stacks of TNT. He went to Dream, took the TNT, and wired Manberg to _explode_. He wanted it gone. He wanted it to burn. He _wanted_ so many things. ~~_(I heard there was a special place where man could go emancipate.)_~~ That button, that _room_ called to him, and he went there _so_ many times, so close to just _pushing_ it. Maybe it didn't work anymore. Maybe he hadn't wired it properly. Maybe he would press it and _nothing_ would happen.

They won. They won, and Schlatt the tyrant died to his own terrible health. They won, Schlatt was dead, and Tubbo wanted to dance upon L'Manberg's corpse, just like Schlatt before him. They took down the decorations, so close to the TNT. _~~(Niki knew, Niki~~_ ~~saw _, and she said nothing.)_~~ He stood before the button one last time, reaching for it, but pulling away. It called to him, it _sang_ to him, it knew he wanted this. Then he was interrupted by a familiar voice. _~~(What are you doing?)~~_ Phil was here, wings flared instinctively against a threat. Phil was here _now_ , at the one moment that Wilbur didn't want him to be. His communicator beeped, showing Tubbo's death at the hands of Techno, but Wilbur didn't care. _~~(There~~_ ~~was _a special place, but it's not there anymore.)_~~ Phil thought L'Manberg was still there, he thought that place, that 'new administration', that _abomination_ was still L'Manberg. They had won it through _fighting_ , through _bloodshed_ , through _violence_. ~~_(A place of words instead of weapons. A place of_~~ ~~peace _)._~~ They had taken it from an elected leader. The people had _elected_ a _tyrant_. No, his L'Manberg, that special place, was gone. The song written on the walls sang bitterly of a time that had been but would never be again.

"There was a saying by a traitor," Wilbur said, choking back tears as he mourned his beautiful L'Manberg, as he prepared to stop the desecration of its corpse for good, "once part of L'Manberg." His hand sat atop the button, not pressing it quite yet, but so _close_ to devastation, so close to the _end_ he wanted. "He had a saying." And now the tears ran down his face in earnest, grief welling up and tangling his voice in knots. "It was never meant to be." He pressed the button, and L'Manberg fell. Cold relief sank over his shoulders, and he _smiled_ , so bitterly happy, so agonisingly joyous, so _tired_. "My L'Manberg, Phil!" he shouted as they stared at the ruination of a corpse. "My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!" He had wanted so much for L'Manberg, so many beautiful things, but it would never happen. L'Manberg was _dead_. "If I can't have this, no one can, Phil!" ~~_(It was dead, it was_ dead~~ ~~ _, and they tried to play in its corpse.)_~~

"Kill me, Phil," he demanded, so empty, so cold. "Look, they all want you to." ~~_(If there's no L'Manberg, then what's the point?)_~~ "Do it, Phil, kill me." _~~(You're my son!)~~_ "Phil, kill me!" And now he was begging for it, _pleading_ for the sweet embrace of the void. His purpose was gone. L'Manberg was gone, _had_ been gone, and now he was finished. It was over. ~~_(No matter what you've done, I_~~ ~~can't _–)_~~ "Phil, look! Look! How much work went into this, and now it's gone." He faced his father with empty eyes and a bitter grin gracing his face. "Do it. _Do_ it." And his father plunged his sword into his chest. He spoke for the final time, revealing all, and with that, he let himself fade. ~~_(Dream said earlier that there wasn't a traitor. He said earlier, hey, you know what? There's no traitor. And you know what? He fucking lied! He lied! Phil, it's Technoblade. Phil, it's Technoblade. Phil, it's Technoblade. And he has eight Withers ready to go. Go as fast as you can, Phil. Go on. Bye-bye, Phil. We won. It's over. There was a traitor.)_~~ He died thinking only of L'Manberg, his great nation, his unfinished symphony. He died in L'Manberg, for L'Manberg, with L'Manberg. He stood his ground on a patch of broken earth for L'Manberg. All of it, for L'Manberg. 

_(The earth writhes, twists, coils around the limp body of the Warrior, taking its blood and breath and bone and weaving it with the Mother, the Elder. Their hearts beat in perfect time,_ L'Manberg _,_ L'Manberg is dead _,_ it was never meant to be _. The sacrifices mourn for the nation they died to create, and the earth calls for ruination, for devastation, for_ disaster _. The earth demands one final sacrifice, and so it ends.)_

* * *

**The Disaster**

Technoblade watched the people he'd fought beside for _months_ start celebrating their victory, instating a new president, starting a new administration, _rebuilding_ the very government he'd just torn down. They knew his beliefs, his ideals, his anarchist ways, and they turned his revolution into a hostile takeover. They had betrayed him, betrayed his _beliefs_ , and they didn't even have the politeness to do it behind his back. No, they did it _right in front_ of him like he wouldn't be upset about it. How _could_ they? He had thought they were friends, but no. He had gotten too soft, obviously. Chat screamed in fury, demanding blood and chanting letters like an invocation, but he ignored them. He was furious enough without their help. Just as Phil joined the server, he killed Tubbo. No mercy. No hesitation. There would be no weakness shown to traitors. The slaughter continued, even as explosions ripped through the land, even as the ground tore itself apart, even as L'Manberg burned.

"Tommy," he said as he stared down his former friend _~~(brother?)~~_ with murderous eyes. "Do you think you're a hero, Tommy?" Tommy yelled at him, screamed at him, begged him to stop, but he wouldn't listen, not to the person who had taken the fruits of his labour to form a _government_. "Do you think you're a hero, Tommy?" Everyone began shouting over him in the middle of his big speech, but he ignored them too. "Tommy, do you think you're a hero? Is that what this is?" _~~(I just wanted L'Manberg)~~_ "You wanted power," Techno replied. "Tommy, you just did a _coup_. You just did a hostile government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as president. And then you gave it to your friend, but that's still a _tyrant_ , Tommy." He knew that Tommy didn't understand, _couldn't_ understand what he was saying. Not when he wasn't willing to listen. But he would still speak, and hopefully _someone_ would understand. "But the thing about this world, Tommy, is that good things don't happen to heroes."

He told Tommy a story ~~_(like he used to when they were small)_~~ , a story about Theseus, hero of Sparta, slayer of the Minotaur, who died in disgrace, despised by his people. There were so many more legends he could have recounted, so many more heroes who met terrible fates. Achilles, invincible warrior, brought down by a stray arrow to the heel, who died alone, separated from his lover, Patroclus, among the countless corpses of his victims. Jason, leader of the Argonauts, who died alone and broken, spurned by his goddess, abandoned by all who loved him, killed by the very ship he sailed so long ago. Bellerophon, slayer of the Chimera, capturer of Pegasus, struck down by the gods for his arrogance. This is what it means to be a hero: Adored by the many, loved by the few, betrayed by those you thought you could trust. _~~(He has so many adoring fans on Hypixel, but he left them for these idiots and their revolution, and where did that get him? Here, standing alone against the ones he thought he could trust.)~~_

"But if you want to be a hero, Tommy, that's fine," he said, standing before soul sand, holding Wither skulls in his hands. ~~_(Don't do this Technoblade, they said, as though their words would hold any weight with them after they betrayed him.)_~~ "Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?" He placed down the skulls one by one as the screaming of his enemies grew louder. "Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?" he asked, triumphant. "Then DIE LIKE ONE!" The Withers rose, and they _screamed_ for blood. ~~_(From beyond the grave, Wilbur laughed. They had won. He and Techno, they had_~~ ~~won _. Not L'Manberg, not Pogtopia, just him and Techno._ ~~~~_Tubbo, you are president of a crater! Enjoy.)_~~

 _(The earth calls out, and as the Withers rise, as L'Manberg burns, as blood splatters across the broken earth, bloodstained dirt twists and shapes itself into strands of muscle, into webs of skin, into slabs of flesh. Lungs grow around breath, limbs grow around blood, organs grow around bones, and a new body forms from the sacrifices of the Mother, the Elder, the Warrior. ~~A new body rises from Wilbur Soot's corpses.~~ L'Manberg rises out of the earth_ _. A small child, perhaps three or four, dark hair threaded with pink and gold, dark eyes, yellow jumper covered by a soot-stained brown coat, red beanie with the flag of their nation on it, tattered wings sprouting from their back, horrific burns adorning their flesh. As the earth weaves into vocal cords, they_ scream _, but no one hears them over the agony of the dying. Fire arcs over their flesh, and within seconds, they perish alongside their land, their buildings, their Founder. L'Manberg is dead.)_

* * *

**The After**

Wilbur holds his City close, whispering sweet nothings into the child's ears. Here, in the afterlife, they can finally have their nation. Without the _people_ , without the _mistakes_ , they are free. Sure, Schlatt is still there, but he is not the leader of L'Manberg anymore. He is simply another person, another face, and they can ignore him. It takes them a long time, but he and his City build the nation he once had. The walls stand strong, the buildings are splendid, and they are the proud denizens of a great nation. ~~_(And if, on the first day, there was regret, if Wilbur broke down at the sight of what he did to his City, if for the briefest of moments Wilbur wanted to_~~ ~~go back _, if the City wanted for that same moment to return, if a fragment of both of them–Wilbur's regrets and ideals and agonies and L'Manberg's naïveté and innocence and child-like sense of wonder–returned without their choosing, then that is their secret.)_~~ And in his spare time, he looks for a way to give his City eternity.

He and Schlatt find an uneasy peace where Schlatt stays away and does drugs while he and L'Manberg build their nation. All is well. After two years, Mexican Dream arrives and mostly hangs out with Schlatt, though he sometimes visits. After four years, L'Mantree and the Camarvan show up. He and L'Manberg take L'Mantree, and Schlatt takes the Camarvan. All would be well if not for his pathetic ghost's attempts to die. He doesn't _want_ to go back. He's _content_ here, with his City and his nation. It's pretty easy to resist, though they did accidentally grab Schlatt the second time. He's not going back. He tells Tommy as much when he arrives, recounting all the chaos that happened because of him. Besides, L'Manberg needs him. If they drag him back, he's taking L'Manberg with him. For his City, he would do anything, kill anyone, hurt everything. For L'Manberg, the world. 

After a few months, Tommy flickers out of existence, and Wilbur continues his research on Cities. Lost Cities, Transcended Cities, Cities that _changed_ , Cities that gave up Cityhood, all their twisted secrets. It's remarkably easy to find things, in the afterlife. Every book ever burned, every library ever destroyed, every lost oral tradition, every shattered cave painting, all here in the after. He will find a way to immortalise L'Manberg.

 _("How long has Wilbur been there?" Tommy asks, realisation dawning. "How long has Wilbur been dead?" As the sheer weight of time hits him, he struggles to breathe for a moment. Six months?_ Six _months?)_

"There are Cities that do not need people," Wilbur murmurs gently to L'Manberg, cradling the child City close. ~~_(Atlantis, City of the Drowned, City without mortals, Atlantis Lives, Atlantis_ Lives _)_~~

 _("Dream, the things I saw, the things he talked about, the things he will do..." For a moment, Tommy can't even think, can't even_ move _, so paralysed by the realisation._ _"Never_ ever _bring back Wilbur," Tommy says, begs,_ pleads _, horror clawing at his chest and screaming in his skull. "Please, please, please."_ _)_

"There are Cities that do not burn." _~~(Niedere, City of the Nether, City of lava and flames and walls that do not burn, cannot burn, City that laughs as fire laps harmlessly at her flesh)~~_

 _(_ _"Dream, I've been there for so long now, I take every last– every_ ounce _of doubt back. Do not bring back Wilbur. Ever!"_ _Promise me you will_ never _do that, alright?" He is desperate, he is frantic. If Wilbur returns..._ _)_

"There are Cities that do not die." _~~(Pripyat, City of Ghosts, City of Poison, City that was abandoned and ruined and torn but still~~_ ~~remains _)_~~

 _("_ _Dream, you're nothing, you're fine, Dream, we could be friends if you don't bring him back. All the tragedies you've done..." For a moment, he has hope. Maybe Dream will see reason. Maybe Dream will_ understand _.)_

"They killed you once," he snarls, glaring at a point on the horizon, where Schlatt sleeps off his latest batch of drugs. "They tried to rule over your corpse. Not again. _Never_ again."

 _("Tommy," Dream says, a cruel smile crossing his face behind his mask, "it's not up to you. It's up to_ me. _I have that control. I can decide. Maybe I'll flip a coin. Heads, Wilbur comes back, tails, we flip the coin the next day." "_ _Dream, this isn't... Don't_ ever _bring him back. Please. Promise me, right here, right now, swear on your heart that–" "I swear on my heart that I will use revival however I please.")_

He traces L'Manberg's burn scars with a soft touch, remembering the flames. "We don't need that world. We have a wonderful world here, without them. Look at all that we've built in just nine years," he says, gesturing towards their glorious nation, with stalwart walls and smooth roads and sturdy buildings. "I don't want to go back. But if they bring us back..."

_(_ _"Dream, burn the book. Burn the book. Now, Dream! I'm telling you, Dream, you don't understand this. This is so much bigger than your few hundred IQ brain." "I don't have the book. What I do have is knowledge from the book. And I can't burn that. It's stuck with me. Maybe I'll bring Wilbur back, maybe I won't, maybe I'll send you back.")_

He chuckles darkly, teeth gleaming in the flickering torchlight. "If they bring us back, then we will carve out your rightful place, the glorious nation that bears your name." 

_("You have to die. You have to die. I'll kill you in the_ fucking _prison, and I'll... I'll... If I kill you now, then I'll be in here. Then I'll be stuck in here. If I kill you, then I'll be stuck in here forever. I can't... I can't kill you in here, because then I'll be in here forever by myself, and then... And then it will be worse than there. It will be worse than death. And then I'll have to die in_ here _. And then I'll go back there. With no more memories, no more anything. Just suffering. I can't kill you. I can't kill you! I need to kill you and I can't. I can't..."_

He looks his City in the eyes, brushing a hand over their wings as he smiles broadly, a light of triumph shining in his eyes. "L'Manberg, my beautiful L'Manberg, you will be eternal. They will never take you from me again."

**Author's Note:**

> Reasoning for why all those deaths during the War for Independence didn't count as the Warrior's death: Either the deaths have to happen in order here, or the others didn't die with the right mentality to count. You choose.  
> Please point out any inaccuracies or errors you notice.  
> (And for the three of you that found this fic because you're subscribed to me, rest assured that Ego fic shall return once my writer's block about Antisepticeye abates.)


End file.
